“First a stretcher-case,” said Isaac, and the boatman grunted. “Less bloody noise!” he said angrily, and their voices dropped once more. “The ‘Roach’ has been patrolling all evening; and she may be back soon. So cut out the talk and act.”
While two of the crew fetched up the feverish prophet and lowered him into the boat, others threw open the hatches and began lowering their freight overboard into the dark water. The “agricultural machinery” in its glistening slip cases of water-proof plastic slid easily and elegantly into two fathoms of water. Floats were set to mark the spot.
The boatman had vanished into the darkness with his stretcher load, promising to come back for the girl. All was purposeful disorder and confusion as the holds were emptied of their contents. In fact, things were going so well that Isaac allowed himself to chuckle and rub his hands; he went below to find the girl already awake and sitting on her bunk with her haversack slung.
“Everything is going like clockwork,” he said, and even as he uttered the ill-omened words he heard a warning whistle from the shore and the scudding of feet about the decks. He climbed back on deck, motioning her to follow. Nadeb had already cried “Look!” and was pointing eastward to the two long pencils of searchlight which moved towards them on the dark coast, gracefully swinging this way and that like the antennae of an insect as they explored the coves and reaches of the indented land. Isaac permitted himself a couple of dreadful swear-words. “It’s the ‘Roach’, ” he said, almost biting through his pipe-stem with vexation.
“The stuff’s all overboard, Skipper,” said Nadeb, jumping about like a cat on hot bricks. “We can’t be caught here now!” Isaac knew this only too well. He roared “Engine-room!” and, turning to the girl, said: “I’m sorry — you’ll have to go overboard. There’s no time to lose. Nadeb will take you.”
“Zion” began to throb and stagger. It all happened so fast that there was no time to exchange a word or a thought. As the two pencils of searchlight strayed slowly, purposefully, towards them, she felt herself lifted and lowered over the side by Isaac’s strong arms. Nadeb climbed down beside her. The sea came up in a smooth cold sheath under her armpits, making her shudder. “It’s only fifty yards,” said Nadeb in a whisper. “Put a hand on my shoulder. Mind — not a ripple, not a splash!” She did as she was told and, as the “Zion” drew away, the boom of her screw threw up foam onto her face, blinding her. With eyes shut she lay and felt the strong shoulders of Nadeb beginning to work, dragging her. “Zion” had been swallowed in the darkness. After what seemed an eternity, she felt sand under her feet and then pebbles. They lay in the shallows for a while, getting their breath; then Nadeb stood up and dragged her unceremoniously to her feet. They reached the shadow of a lemon grove before the searchlights arrived to light up the deserted fort.
The girl shook herself like a wet dog. They stood thus in the shadows of the trees and watched the chalky light of the patrol-boat’s searchlights throw everything into relief — the medieval fort, the mole and the wooded shores of the cove. Every leaf on the trees stood out with sudden incandescence as the beam swept over them and away again. The engines of the boat made hardly any noise as they carried her towards them. She felt the light on her and was tempted to turn back into the thickets around, but Nadeb said: “Stand quite still.” They stood thus intently; she could hear the water dripping from her. After a slow and methodical exploration of the beach, and of the three or four deserted fishing-boats anchored in the cove, the “Roach” turned north again and increased speed. Nadeb grunted with pleasure. “They’ve missed the float,” he said. Adding with a chuckle, “They will catch ‘Zion’ up in half an hour and search her. Good!” In his mind’s eye he could doubtless see Isaac’s expression of innocent outrage as the boarding-party tackled him.
A figure had detached itself from the shadows and approached while they stood watching: the girl jumped as she felt a hand on her arm. The voice of a woman, low and composed, said, “Are you Judith Roth? I think you must be?”
“Yes.”
“Take my hand. It is not far.” The girl felt a warm strong hand in hers, and allowed herself to be led away into the dense shadow of the grove among the trees. She was tempted at first to feel alarmed, but finally resignation overcame her: for so long now she had been handed like this from person to anonymous person, like a parcel. But at least for the first time she appeared to be expected. They knew her name, she told herself, smiling. It was like being recognized by long-lost friends. They waited in a ditch while a long convoy of lorries rushed past, their headlights lighting up the tall trees beside the road and throwing up a plume of acrid dust. And here Nadeb took his departure. “Goodbye,” he said, shaking her hand, and added as a surprising afterthought: “Welcome to Palestine!” Before she could thank him he had dematerialized and been swallowed up by the darkness.
The woman still held her hand with cool composure. In the half-light the girl looked at her with curiosity: she was of slender build and appeared to be dressed in some sort of apron. She was watching the diminishing light of the convoy on the long straight road. “Now let’s cross,” she said, and still held onto the wet hand of her charge. They crossed a number of fields in darkness. At last they turned into another lemon grove and paused before the door of what looked like a large deserted barn. The woman pushed open a door and gently led her into what must once have been a granary. Yet a big fire blazed in the hearth and clouds of steam rose from cauldrons of hot water. Two old women, clad like Bessarabian gypsies, were busy with sponges upon the body of what seemed to be a dead man. Judith Roth looked around her with surprise. The dark-haired woman pressed her hand and smiled at her, as if anxious that she should not be alarmed by the unfamiliarity of their surroundings. “This is a temporary transit hut,” she said, “for our refugees. Some of them are in bad shape, you know.”
The corpse on the long trestle-table opened its mouth and crooned gently. Though apparently still asleep, he had begun a long rambling recitative in which the name of the Jordan river kept creeping in as a leitmotif. The Jordan would wash his sins away if only he could reach it — such was the burden of the song. Judith’s companion chuckled briefly. “The old boy’s going to be in luck when he realizes we’ve got the Jordan outside the front door.” The two women hummed under their breath as they filled the sponges and crushed the warm water over his emaciated body. They were humming some strange old melody, full of quarter-tones and odd syncopations of rhythms — it was uncanny — as if they were washing a corpse before laying it out. The woman followed the direction of the girl’s gaze and said: “He will feel much better for a wash and a change of clothing. Afterwards, I’ll sedate him for the night. I’m a doctor, by the way. Naomi Hourzan. Come by the fire now and strip.”
Still dazed by the rapid succession of events, Judith Roth complied like some dumb animal. Her fingers wrestled numbly with her tattered clothing. The doctor helped her deftly and tactfully, talking quietly to her. The old women crooned softly as they dried the body of the recumbent prophet, combing his beard and hair, and dusting his body with talc. Naomi Hourzan dragged a long low table across to the firelight and motioned her charge to lie down while she busied herself with a small suitcase from which she extracted a stethoscope. “You’ve been expected for some time,” she said. “Now lie still, I want to look you over.”